There’s no place like home

Or so said Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. They also say that home is where you hang your hat, which would mean Michigan, and that home is where your heart is, which means anywhere with my husband and baby.

But all of those cliches don’t leave any room for the flicker of home-that-wasn’t-home I felt as we descended over the shimmering jewel that is Los Angeles at night or the relief at seeing the snow falling on the Detroit airport last night as we arrived home in Michigan.

Home.

I’m not sure where exactly home is right now. Our trip back to California, for all of its whirlwind fun, confirmed that I’m no longer at home there but not quite at home yet in the snow swept midwest either. I guess it’s a sort of no man’s land for now, which I suppose is okay, if a little lonely at times.

All that said, I think tonight I might be tempted to trade home for a non-screaming non-teething baby whose body isn’t on the wrong time zone.